


Painted

by anawfulybigadventure



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Drabble Sequence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-15 04:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 21,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12314019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anawfulybigadventure/pseuds/anawfulybigadventure
Summary: Alliance between Starks and Baratheons was long coming, but necessary in the new world all the same.





	1. I can't lose you

**Author's Note:**

> a ficlet a day keeps the writers block away:)
> 
> I just found some prompts on tumblr and decided to make a story based on them. These are all going to be just drabbles, and i'm going to post at least one chapter daily

They have been living together for some time when Sansa learns that she is pregnant. 

This is a marriage between lord Baratheon and lady Stark, not between Gendry and Sansa, so they hadn’t bedded more than necessary, only enough to consummate it, enough to prove that she was a maiden and Lannisters do not have any rights upon Winterfell through Tyrion.

She doesn’t know what Gendry thinks of her, he can barely look her in the eye. Sansa can see the way he is at ease when he is around Arya or Jon, or almost anyone else. But with her he is always so quiet. He never speaks unless she asks him a question. Even when they bedded, he wouldn’t look at her, and insisted upon one thing only - that they would keep the clothes on, and the candles blown.

So she doesn’t know how to tell him. Would he be happy? 

She also can’t help but think that it is too soon. They needed more time to get used to each other. Or maybe Gendry needs more time to get used to the idea of her being his wife.

Because, despite it all, Sansa often finds herself content with their marriage. Gendry sleeps on the sofa, but sometimes when she insists, during the coldest nights, he hugs her, always with blankets between them. And she likes it. She doesn’t tell him that the bed is warm enough and she is only worried about him. 

He always obeys her, and never argues. And she likes it. Arya has told her numerous times that he is a good man. And Sansa can see it.

She also likes how sometimes he tries to be a good husband.

He is gone throughout the day, sometimes she sees him fighting with Jon, sometimes with Arya, but he comes every night back to her.

And never without the gift - at first there were flowers that he stationed on their table, careful not to touch her. 

Then later, when she found him with the blacksmith, and complimented him on his work, he came at night with a bracelet for her. Sansa found it funny how he wouldn’t say anything about it, just put it in front of her, and then begun undressing, ready to fall on sofa to sleep.

She asked him if he had made it, lifting the bracelet carefully to the candle.

He nodded, without turning back to her, and she thanked him.

She wore it, and later when Gendry did some intricate jewels to be added to the bracelet, she wore them too - wolves for each member of her family, and a stag. 

He only made the stag for her when she asked him for it.

“I can’t lose you” - she holds her belly, not knowing whom does she speak to - a babe or Gendry.


	2. You're not allowed to do that!

Sansa goes riding one say. She is sick of being inside the walls, thinking about her husband and his whereabouts, going slightly bit mad thinking about him and Arya.

They are always together, and he says more to Arya during the feast than to her throughout all the time that he knows her.

So she goes through the woods, thinking that Gendry might be there, until she realises that she managed to get lost.

During her childhood she never went to the woods alone, mother always insisted on Robb going with her. She had been so happy then, she always felt so mature when she was with Robb, without Arya and then other boys. 

But she never learned how to navigate through the forest, so she climbs off the horse and looks around. 

Gendry and Arya surely must be here, she tells herself, trying to stop the voice telling her that mother not only insisted on Robb going with her but also on Robb taking the sword with him.

She tries to walk back, but soon realises that she is walking in circles, and she is already tired, the sickness coming over her, and she vomits.

Of course, that is the moment when Arya and Gendry find her - when she is trying to wipe her face, and the world swirls.

“Sansa!” - and she thinks that it might be the first time she hears Gendry saying her name. He runs over to her, easily lifting her to stand, gives her his shoulder to lean to.

But she feels terrible, and she tries to twist, so that Gendry wouldn’t see it, but she still manages to get some on him.

She hears Gendry telling Arya to go back to Winterfell, to bring maester here, he sounds so panicked, his hands digging into her are almost causing her pain.

She tries to tell him that she is alright, but her voice sounds so weak, she can’t be sure Gendry hears her.

Arya is gone and Sansa is alone with her husband, it might be the first time they are alone during the day.

Gendry holds himself so stiff next to her, she runs her hand on his side.

“I’m sorry,” - she isn’t sure what she should say, so that is what she settles on.

“What were thinking of?” - he sounds tense, and Sansa doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean? You and Arya are always going to the forest, but I can’t?” - she pushes herself away from him, and leans onto the tree.

“You are not allowed to do that!” - he raises his voice to stop her talking. He looks at her, might be for the first time, without cowering or turning red.

“I don’t understand,” - she says, but she thinks that she probably does.

“Maester told me…” - as he says this, he goes back to his familiar self - hiding himself from Sansa, he lowers his eyes, sags his shoulders, the end of the phrase he just mumbles.

She feels betrayed. She was hoping to tell him herself, she wanted to see his face. She sighs into her hands, covering her face.

Tears come unexpectedly. She was lost in the woods, she is sick with her ever-changing body, Gendry has raised his voice for the first time on her, and he knows that she is pregnant, and she still doesn’t know if he likes it or not. She hopes he doesn’t look at her, happy for once that he never does.


	3. You're crazy!

That night he doesn’t come to her, and Sansa doesn’t know what to think of.

Is it because he is mad at her for going to the woods alone? Or because she is pregnant now?

She finds him at the forge. Thankfully he is alone there, working so hard he doesn’t hear her coming.

Only when he breaks the sword in half, cursing with such words that Sansa feels herself turning red (hopefully, the heat of the fires will be enough explanation), he notices her. 

The hammer drops from his hands.

“I’m so sorry, m’lady…” 

That annoys her more than anything else he has ever done.

“You are lord of the Storm’s End, son of King Robert, there is no need to cower in front of your wife,” - she snaps. There is no need to hold yourself as if you’re lower than me, Sansa adds inside.

“M’lady, I -” 

“Where did you spend the night?” - he doesn’t look at her, as per usual.

“Here, m’lady” - he motions with his hand around. She notices the blankets near the fire. It infuriates her even more. Of course he wouldn’t go to anyone else, she thinks. He is a good man. She spent the entire night pacing around the room, imagining the worst - him and Arya. She should have known. And yet, she still feels mad.

“Why?” 

“Why? M’lady, -” 

“Why did you decide to spend the night here, and not with your wife?” - he lifts his eyes, but only for a moment. Sansa doesn’t understand. Is she repulsive for him? Why does he never look at her?

He swallows, the movement minutely catches Sansa’s attention, she looks at him as whole. His hands are slightly bit shaking, perhaps from exhaustive work, she can see the movement of the muscles through the shirt. He is so damningly good-looking. 

“I should apologise, m’lady, for my behaviour yesterday. It is not the tone to use with… with the ladies,” - he hides his hands behind him, and he looks so uncomfortable right now, that her anger starts diffusing. 

“Is that the only reason?” - she breathes out.

“The only?” - he looks so confused he forgets that he doesn’t look at her, lifting his eyes.

“Is it not because…” - Sansa fidgets, not sure she wants to go there. But Gendry is still looking at her. - “because I am now pregnant?” 

“Are you crazy?” - he asks it so calmly, it becomes too funny to see how he understands what he just said to her, opening his mouth, no doubt to apologise.

“What?” - she laughs. - “I’m not crazy. You’re crazy!” 

He chuckles. And for a moment everything becomes alright.


	4. Kiss me, please

This night he comes to their room. Sansa waited the whole day, eager for the night to come. Something has changed, she is sure of it.

But she doesn’t know what to expect. She knows what she wants though.

She wants him. The desire started burning easily from the moment she has seen him, and after months of their marriage, the fire was only becoming too big to ignore.

Their first few nights when the babe was consumed were too quick, she hasn’t been able to feel anything.

When he comes into the room, he smiles as he looks at her.

“Join me?” - Sansa nods to the table in front of her. 

He breathes out loudly, saying: “Yes.” 

Sansa can pinpoint the minute Gendry notices what she is wearing, his eyes bulging a little bit, and there might be a tiny whimper that gets swallowed formed on Gendry’s lips. He doesn’t as much sits as he falls upon the chair.

A wave of embarrassment rushes over her body. While she was alone, repeating the conversation they had in the morning, when the memories of him sweaty from the hard work were still fresh, she was so confident she would do just about anything to make him feel what she felt. 

That’s why she wore this - thinest dress, only made to be worn in the bedroom. She has no doubt that even in the light of the fire and dim lights of candles Gendry can see her, her nipples cutting through the thin material.

He lowers his gaze onto the food, but she sees how red he has become. And that alone makes her squeeze her legs.

He eats, focusing on the food, never lifting his head. 

And Sansa wants so much more. She still doesn’t understand him, doesn’t know what is to be with their marriage, doesn’t know what he thinks of her, doesn’t know if he wants her the way she wants him.

His embarrassment makes it easy to forget of her own, so she stands up. Gendry doesn’t lift her head from the table, but he freezes on the spot.

Sansa comes to his side, running her hand through the muscles on his, the grip on the fork he turns his hands white.

 _Calm_ , she tries to tell him without the words, gently kissing his shoulder.

He shakily breathes out.

She looks up at him, smoothing his hair, hoping that he is only embarrassed and not repulsed by her. Hoping he desires her, even a little.

“Kiss me, _please_ ” 

Her voice breaks on the last word, she sounds like she is begging him, and she might actually be, because she wants it so badly.

And he turns to her, looking into her eyes, and obeying.


	5. I can't marry you

The kiss turns out to be the sweetest she has ever had. He keeps his hands away from her, but she isn’t so well-mannered - her hands touch his shoulders, and go up the neck. There is only a gentle touch of the lips, slow movement has such tenderness that Sansa feels a little light headed.

They end it soon, Gendry immediately turning back to the food, and Sansa is alright with it. They have time for everything else, and right now to take things so slowly seems like luxury she can finally afford.

She sits in his legs, dropping her head onto Gendry’s knee.

He starts eating slowly, chewing one piece for a long time. She wonders if he liked the kiss, if he likes being married to her.

After all, she starts understanding now, Gendry must have thought he didn’t have the choice - he probably still thinks he has to obey the commands of high-borns, what’s with him obeying every of her desires.

“I’m sorry,” - those are the exact words that Sansa was going to say, but they come from her husband's lips.

“For what?” 

“I…” - he looks frustrated. - “I know I already apologised for my words… But it was not a way to talk to a lady, or.. or… To talk to a wife. I’m very sorry, it will never happen again. And yesterday, I felt so terrible for my behaviour… I thought you wouldn’t want me to come… I’m sorry, m’lady.” 

“It is nothing, truly.” 

Because he looks as if he is ready to crawl out of his skin, Sansa touches his cheek, he doesn’t shy away from the contact.

“I know you didn’t want this marriage,” - he turns to her, incredulous. - “it doesn’t have to be this uncomfortable for you…” 

She thinks that she can stay at the Winterfell with Jon and her family, and he can return to Storm’s End. 

“I never said I didn’t want this marriage!” - he takes her hand into his.

“Didn’t you? When I talked to you about it, you said -” 

“That I can’t marry you! Not that I didn’t want to!”

He looks at her, without shying away, and she remembers that first talk. 

“You looked terrified,” - Sansa smiles, and Gendry does too. 

“I was terrified!” - he laughs a little, still holding her hand. 

“Why did you think you couldn’t marry me?” - at the time, when new political alliances had to be made, Sansa herself suggested this idea to Jon. Alliance between Starks and Baratheons was long coming, but it was necessary in the new world all the same, and Arya has said she wouldn’t marry Gendry because he was like a brother to her. Sansa remembered the promise her father made for her - that he would find someone good for her, and she had a feeling he would approve Gendry. So she walked into the marriage by her choice, and she thought that Gendry had the choice too.

He flushed with red every time she was near him, stammering over his words, and she thought he might learn to love her.

But maybe it was just his shyness, him unsure how to be near a lady, how to be a lord.

“I don’t know how to be a good husband for you,” - he says it slowly, drawing the pauses between the words, picking them carefully. He frees his hands in one impulsive movement to go over his hair.

She once again doesn’t understand him. He doesn’t know how to be good husband for her? So he would know how to be good for somebody else? Is it once again about him being low-born and her being a lady? Does he think she expects something?

“You are good to me,” - she says, standing up, with Gendry immediately turning away from her.

She leaves one blanket for him, letting him choose whether he decides to sleep on sofa or next to her, and crawls under the blankets on her side. The dress is uncomfortable to sleep in, but she will have to do it.

She looks at him, he is walking around the room, blowing the candles. The food is still left on his plate and Sansa knows that he never leaves the food on the plates, but she guesses blowing off the candles so that she would sleep is more important. 

She knows that he won’t sleep next to her, he never does unless she asks him to.

“Am I good for you?” - she asks from the bed, when only the fire is lighting the room.

He startles a little, looking at where she is, hurdled in blankets, and his posture and face for once do not look tense. Corner of his mouth goes upward a little, and he says: “Yes”.

Sansa knows it is probably a lie. She orders him again and again, and he obeys, and he will tell her whatever she wants to hear. Does he realise he has a choice? He has a voice to tell her his desires.


	6. Please, just- stay. Please.

Gendry starts undressing near the sofa when Sansa feels a strange movement inside her.

“Oh!” - she breathes out.

“Sansa?…” - Gendry turns to her, looking as unsure as she feels.

“I think…” - she presses her hands to the spot where she felt the movement coming from. And _something_... kicks her! - “Gendry, I think the babe is moving!”

She looks at him, ready to cry. She sees how lost he looks, how happiness slowly takes over his face.

It seems so wrong that he is that far from her. Yes, they are in the same room, but he has to be nearer.

“Come here,” - she moves the blanket on top of her, and he comes forward and sits on the bed.

Sansa just takes his hand and presses it to her belly.

“Ow,” - he exhales.

“What? Did you feel the kick?” - Sansa didn’t feel anything.

“No, no,” - he smiles at her, sheepish.

She thinks that this might be the first time Gendry feels the subtle changes in her body, and as she watches him, the expression on his face of a quiet wonder makes her heart swell.

Time passes, and Gendry carefully lies next to her, not taking his hand away from the babe. 

“Maybe we should talk to him?” - Sansa suggests remembering the time when her mother was swollen with Bran and Rickon, encouraging her to talk to them.

Gendry chuckles.

“Him?”

His voice is quiet, as if he is afraid of waking up the child. Tenderness on his face makes this moment truly magical.

“I actually don’t know…” - she says nervously. 

She thinks back to the moment when the maester confirmed her suspicions.

“I was just thinking…” - she smiles at him, embarrassed. Gendry moves closer to her, seeming so unnervingly comfortable. - “If it’s a boy, we could name him after Robb… And your father.” 

“I like it,” - Gendry says simply. 

“And if it’s a girl?” 

“I don’t know,” - Sansa moves his hands on her body a bit lower, she thinks she can feel some subtle movement there. - “Do you want to name her after your mother?” 

Sansa doesn’t know anything about Gendry’s life, and she only hopes she isn’t causing Gendry any sort of pain.

“Her name was Lila,” - Gendry moves so that his head is closer to her belly. - “Who are you? Little Robb or Lila?” - he coos softly.

And that’s when the babe kicks again. Both of them look at each other, shaken. Sansa covers her face with her hand.

“Keep talking!” - she says. - “I think he likes your voice.” 

Gendry looks at her so intently, Sansa is ready to beg him to kiss her again, but he just shifts closer, almost pressing his face into her belly.

“Hey little one,” - Sansa touches his face, and Gendry momentarily looks at her. 

“I will try my best to be a good father for you,” - Gendry whispers, but he is so close and Sansa is trying her best to hear everything he is saying, the words explode.

“You will be,” - Sansa says to him.

Gendry looks up, turning a bit pink.

She pushes his head onto her belly gently, laying back on the pillows, threading her hand through Gendry’s hair.

“Why are you so uncomfortable around me?” - she angles her body on the pillows so that she would be able to see her husband clearly.

She thinks about the answer, she needs to know if he can love her, slowly, over time, like her parents learned to love each other.

“You know why,” - he says it shyly. It is ridiculous how a man his size and strength can be that shy. He is the same age as Robb would be now.

“No, I don’t.” - _Why else would I ask_ goes unsaid.

He licks his lips, his eyes swatting around nervously, when he visibly settles himself.

“Have you seen yourself?” - his face is even redder now, she can feel the heat of his face fanning on her. Gendry presses his face deeper into her, and Sansa tenses a little, straining not to laugh, as his hair tickles her. - “I was.. I… If I had a chance to even be near somebody like you, if I saw somebody like you… I didn’t know…”

He groans, hiding his face completely in her stomach, bringing the blankets to hide himself behind them. And continues speaking through layers of quilts, vibrations of his voice touching her belly and the babe.

“When I first saw you… I didn’t know… I was just happy that I saw something so beautiful. And you’re not just beautiful, but also… Oh Gods, I’m so terrible at this!” - his embarrassment piquing, even Sansa can feel herself turning red from his words.

But there isn’t a chance she is going to stop this.

“If I was a knight… I don’t know, I just thought that maybe I might become a knight and protect you and be near you… I was so jealous of _Brienne_ ,” - he shakes a little, probably laughing. - “That was the biggest I afforded myself to think of.” 

Sansa feels herself freezing, happiness overwhelming her. But Gendry isn’t over.

“So then, when… you came to me, and we married… And I might do something that will just ruin this… I just thought… when I heard that you might have to marry someone so that Lannister’s claim wouldn’t steal Winterfell… I told myself that I have no right to feel jealous of whoever that would be,” - she pulls on his hair, lifting his head, because it is impossible to wait another second without seeing him, she needs to know what he looks like when he says all of it. He visibly steels himself but looks at her - his face a mixture of so many emotions, his hair a wild mess. - “I don’t understand why or how, but I’m… thankful.” 

His voice shakes on the last word.

“I’m thankful too,” - Sansa knows this is not nearly enough, she doesn’t know how to explain what it means to her that somebody so good feels this way about her. - “I chose you, you know, right?” 

He nods tensely, and then moves his face a little to place a kiss on her hand, surprising her. She smiles, saying soft: “thank you”.

“You will sleep here tonight,” - she phrases it without thinking if it’s a question or a statement, but Gendry doesn’t argue, just places another kiss on her belly and moves closer to her, she moves her blanket so that it covers her as whole, suddenly aware of the dress she is wearing and thin clothing of Gendry.

 _We will have time for everything_ , she tells herself, and moves closer to her husband. He holds himself so strung, his body is about to vibrate, and in impulsive movement he lays his hand over her blanket, shifting her closer to him, hugging her. 

It is hard to fall asleep, with the beat of Gendry’s words repeating themselves over and over, with his body close, with his hot breath washing itself over her face, she’s afraid to move and somehow ruin it all, but as the babe starts slow movements inside of her, and she takes Gendry’s hand through the blankets that divide them and places it so that he can feel it too, she finds herself drowsing off, and doesn’t quite catch what Gendry softly says to them.

In the morning she wakes because Gendry shifts from the bed, about to leave them.

But the memories of yesterday are so fresh inside Sansa’s mind, she can’t let him go.

“Please, just- stay. Please.” 

And he stays.


	7. Wow

Sansa wakes up again as Gendry thanks somebody. She looks up at him, and hears the door of their chamber closing. Drowsy, not quite awake, she places her hand on Gendry, who is lifted up on his elbows, places it on his naked chest, and only wakes up when he starts heating up, turning red.

She immediately snatches her hand back.

Gendry clears his throat and says: “They brought us some food,” - and he looks at her, clearly uncomfortable, but now that Sansa knows the reasons for it, she finds it adorable.

“Alright,” - she stands up, quickly pulling the dress over her even-more-revealing-in-a-daylight cloth. When she turns back, Gendry pointedly has his back to her, dressing up himself.

She quickly brushes her hair and looks to the mirror, pinching her face, smoothing the lines from the sleep. 

Sansa sits down, enjoying the smell of the food in front of her - lemon cakes, hot bread, butter, honey, blackberry and blueberry preserves, a rasher of bacon, a soft-boiled egg, pots of mint tea.

She makes herself save the lemon cakes for the last, starting her feast with the bread-with-butter-and-blueberry and an egg.

Gendry joins her, and she smiles up to him, happy that this is the first time they are feasting alone.

“What should we do today?” - Sansa asks him. Gendry always eats with such hunger and ferocity, it is joyful to see him stammering with his full mouth, trying to chew at once and reply to her as soon as possible, as if she can’t wait another second. As he struggles, the food comes back, and it is a little disgusting, but as Sansa sees how terrified Gendry becomes, she laughs at him, and then with him.

He immediately starts wiping himself up, and cleaning the mess he made, red as a lobster.

She decides that he needs a distraction.

“Have you been to the hot waters?” - she is pretty sure Arya has shown him all there is to see in Winterfell, so she is surprised when Gendry shakes his head.

“Would you like to go there?” - she asks, knowing full well he won’t say no.

And yet, when Gendry nods, she smiles at him, pleased.

Winterfell has been built by Bran the Builder, greatest builder of all time, who has built the wall, and it is rumoured that just like there was magic in the wall, there is magic within Winterfell - with the biggest proof of it being the hot waters that never froze, heating up the castle against the coldest nights, throughout longest winters.

All of that she tells Gendry on their way to the hot waters, and he listens to her.

She doesn’t know how to explain him how good he is to her. Against her she compares him to other men in her life - Joffrey, Petyr, Harry; she learnt that kindness could only come from her family, from those that were loyal to her family, everyone else always wanted something else from her, hadn’t truly cared about her.

She doesn’t know how to explain to him that it is not hard to unlearn that lesson with him.

When they come to the steaming pond, vapours so thick they surround them like a heavy material, droplets of water creating themselves on their skin to run down, Sansa smiles at Gendry because he looks so amazed. She really doesn’t know why Arya hadn’t shown him the place - it is one of the best in the castle.

She shimmies away from the outer clothes, staying in her underclothes, quickly jumping into the water, squeaking as the heat burns her, almost immediately getting used to it, and relaxes. She watches as Gendry gets undressed, leaving only the underpants on him.

This is the most she has seen of Gendry - his chest, torso and back all a feast to her eyes. She has known he is strong, from the first moment she has touched his upper arms, she couldn’t stop noticing the muscles there, always wanting to touch, but right now she sees that all of him…

“Wow,” - she breathes a bit too loudly. 

Gendry turns to her, surprised.

Sansa tries to hide herself in the water, not sure how to explain herself, and Gendry jumps into the water with the splash.


	8. Don't touch me

He groans when he gets his head over water.

“Oh Gods! This is burning!” - he roars, so unselfconscious.

Sansa laughs at him. She suddenly can see King Robert in him, and once it would have terrified her - she remembers how she screamed at her father, saying that Joffrey is nothing like the King.

_Oh, Gods, she only hopes he will not be as fat and hairy and drunk as the King has been. Or that he wouldn’t father that many bastards._

“I’m sorry, my lord,” - she smiles at him.

He turns to her, still in shock, and laughs at her - “No, you are not!” 

She splashes the water on him, and he hisses, but she can see that he is already getting used to the heat. 

He looks at her, mischief in his eyes, and starts circling her, but she knows the place better, and always manages to fly away from his grabs.

“Why are you saying this, my lord? I’m your lady wife, and I feel your pain very deepl- AH!” - she screams when Gendry launches at her, capturing her in his bear hug, and they fall back, with Gendry on top of her.

Laugh still stealing the breath, Sansa inhales the water, and with plenty of splashes and joyful cries, they struggle to stand up, Gendry still holding her close to him.

When Sansa coughs the water, and clears her eyes from the water, she sees Gendry so close to her. No shirt on him, and the underwear on her clings to her like a second skin, Gendry who is still smiling after a beat becomes as tense as she is.

She lifts her face to look at him, his eyes are on her body, and her chest suddenly tingles as she becomes aware where Gendry is looking, his breathing shallow. Arousal hits her, the place between her thighs feeling heavy.

She looks over his body. The desire starts burning against the hot water. She wants him between her legs, wants to climb him, or just grind on his leg, her lips are tingling, hungry for a touch, wants to have her breasts against his chest.

But Gendry looks so lost, she would hate to break this trance of his.

He looks at her, up and down, his pupils dillated, his hands on her waist digging into her.

She still has her hands on his shoulders from when she was trying not to fall on the stone floor, and she carefully moves them on the heated skin there.

He moans, closing his eyes, and she has to swallow to keep the replying moan inside her.

“Sansa,” - his voice is wrecked, hoarse, and she licks her lips as she starts salivating.

And then his hands tighten on her waist, she lets a satisfied sound, and he brings her body close to his.

His body is tight and tense, and the sign of his desire is digging into her through the clothing

“Gendry,” - with them being so close, her breath washes on him, but he doesn’t open his eyes. - “Oh Gods, Gendry!”

She doesn’t recognise her voice, but she is beyond caring. She just opens up her legs a little, trying to get some friction, grinding her hips on Gendry’s thigh.

And, gods, he is all solid muscles.

His breathing becomes shaky, and Sansa sounds forced from how heavy she is breathing.

“Gendry, oh, please…” - she gets her face into his, nosing his jaw, neck, open-mouthed, needing him to... 

And, finally! He grunts and claims her mouth, their teeth clashing, his hands crashing her in a desperate attempt to bring her closer, his grip on her holding her upward more than her legs.

So she circles her legs around Gendry’s torso, and he takes a breath with the name of the Gods on his lips. But she just can’t get enough of him, keeps her mouth on him - licking his neck, sucking whichever she can find, and then with her hands bringing his head back to her, and aligning their mouths once again.

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, all while she grinds on his body, and she should be ashamed, but the noises that Gendry makes because of her movements makes her forget everything that is supposed to be proper.

And at one point Gendry sticks his tongue inside her mouth, the sensation new to her, but he moans and starts devouring her with the hunger as if she is the tastiest feast, and he is starved, and she is helpless against that - just opens her mouth more, more, always more. He has her against a stone wall of the pond, and she doesn’t know when it happened, because they weren’t moving, but all the thoughts go out as Gendry’s hands go lower, kneading her.

They kiss and kiss, and at one point Sansa is so long gone, she just sneaks her hand under the water, lower than her body - seeking his manhood, to align it against her, to grind on it, but when she touches Gendry there, he moves as if he is in pain.

“Please, fuck, Sansa, sweetling… don-” - he gets out, but his voice is so wrecked, so full of pleasure, that she squeezes him in her hand, and the whole moment is so weird, so unlike anything she has ever done or felt.

“Sansa, please, I can’t...!” - voice breaking, Gendry shakes, and Sansa squeezes him again, looking intently at him - his jaw locked, eyes shut.

“Don-.. Ah...Don’t touch me,” - Gendry finally gets out as he spills all over her hand. He comes with the sounds that she heard before - when they bedded, and he left her seed inside of her - loud groan, and a little sob at the end.

Water washes his seed from her hand, and Gendry holds himself still.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” - he says, stiffly, as if the last minutes hadn’t happened.

“Are you now?” - she smiles at him, teasing.

And he smiles back, a bit helplessly.


	9. You taste like heaven

Gendry’s body was slacking, and he let her stand, his hands unable to hold her any longer, and then leans onto her. Sansa is suddenly aware of their surroundings - the water burning her body, stone wall digging uncomfortably into her back, her feet on the hard floor of the pond.

And Gendry in her arms, so trusting and close, she gently kisses his cheek. She loves this quiet moment, looking around them - behind the fog she could see the godswood, trees covered with the snow, spring was coming, but the North will greet her the last of all. Her child will be born in the Spring, will go through the childhood during the summer, she will call him a “summer child” just like everyone has called Bran and Rickon.

It is a mind-swirling moment of serenity.

And yet her arousal was not subsided. 

She stills her hips, so that they would not start looking for the same delicious friction she’s been going mad with just few moments ago, but as Gendry’s body started regaining the control, her husband got himself closer to her - her hardened and sensitive nipples on his chest, her womanhood near his thighs, and Sansa whimpered.

Gendry looks up to her, looking as if he was searching for something.

And she could see how easily he becomes surprised, as if he was not expecting her to look like that. His mouth goes slack.

“Oh Gods, Sansa,” - voice shaky and used. It only worsens her condition - with the deep sound of his voice, she quietly whimpers again.

He moves his hand from her waist, lower, so tantalisingly slow, they are both shaking a little when he touches her there. His fingers just go over her wet gown, no more than tickling her where she wants them to be, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Would you like it?” - he sounds so unsure, like she would ever say no.

“Please,” - she probably should feel ashamed of herself, the way her voice breaks, but then Gendry finally spreads his hand all over her, only a material between them.

“Oh, fuck,” - he curses, looking low at his hand, amazed, and starts rubbing her.

She wonders if, through the water, he can feel how wet she is for him, how hot she burns there for him. _Ahh_ , but it is so good, his heavy, calloused hand taking a hold of her there, possessing her.

Sansa looks at him, her mouth hungry, his face is a few inches away from her, he’s focused, like when he forges swords, but she cannot move, cannot risk ending this sweet torture between her legs, and she needs him to kiss her.

“Kiss me,” - she says, breaking into the moan, feeling Gendry’s hand squeezing and releasing her in a cruel rhythm.

Gendry lifts his eyes, his eyes black, he looks savage and wild. Sansa doesn’t understand why he doesn’t obey her, like he always does, ready to start begging him, when he says: “Alright.” 

And then he takes his hand of her to place it on her waist-

_And, NO, this is not what she wanted! _\- she wants to scream at him.__

__But she doesn’t have the time to voice her complaints, because in one swift motion Gendry lifts her up, like she weights nothing, and hoists her on the grass that surrounds the pond, the ground hot and pleasing, but the air seems cold in the contrast, and it tingles her._ _

__Confused, Sansa looks at Gendry, as he brings her hips closer to him, positioning her legs bent and open for him, and settles on his elbows between her thighs._ _

__“What?… Gendry?…” - Hot steam, the burning water, their kiss that lasted so long, she still hasn’t got a hold of her breathing pattern - all of that results in her head swaying, and she lays it on the ground, cooling off, when she feels Gendry sucking the skin on her inner thigh._ _

__“What are you?… Gendry, please, just come here,” - she holds her hands out for him, expecting and craving him to lay over her, just like it happened before, longs to be pressed by his body, wants to hold him in her hands, his muscles moving underneath her fingers, his face close so that she would be able to kiss him. - “Just come here, and kiss me…”_ _

__“I am going to kiss you,” - he says it with such a nonchalance, she lifts on the elbows to look at him. He moves closer, mouthing on her through the dress, breathing hot on her cunt, she feels her whole body turning red, his hands on her butt, moving her closer to his mouth._ _

__“What? No, Gendry, what are you doing?” - and then he brings his mouth impossibly close to her, his tongue touching her, the material clinging to her and to him, between them, she moans because her clothing doesn’t stop her feeling Gendry’s mouth there, him licking her, kissing her, sucking her flesh and the water droplets on her. Material only intensifies the feeling - with the cloth rubbing her, heavy and hard on her bud. It should be shameful, she knows that _lord_ should never kiss a lady _there_ , much less do what Gendry is doing, but she can't help herself, and moans again._ _

__Gendry moans after her, sounding lost and hungry, the vibrations of his mouth hitting her in the most sensitive place._ _

__“Oh Sansa, please, can I?” - he doesn’t stop devouring her, so his words come with the most obscene sounds of a wet flesh rubbed and sucked, with the cloth inside his mouth._ _

__She doesn’t understand him, all lost in the feeling, focused only on keeping herself up, so she would see Gendry - shift in his shoulders, his face almost hidden between her._ _

__“Sansa, please, can I taste you, sweet one? Please, please,” - he has never asked her with that voice, as if he is about to die should she say no. She doesn’t understand what he means, but she knows she can’t decline him,_ _

__“Yes, yes,” - she says back to him, and immediately he lifts her clothing, groaning at the sight of her, and before she has the time to recoil, he dives back._ _

__“Oh GODS!” - Sansa groans, as Gendry starts eating her, his tongue on her bud in one minute, but then he moves lower at starts sucking at her hole, like he needs her juices more than he needs air to breathe._ _

__“Sansa,” - he sounds wrecked, not lifting his head away from her. - “Sweet one, you taste like heaven,” - he mumbles, as if talking to himself, as if he doesn’t realise she struggles to hear every noise he makes, as if he is unaware of what his words are doing to her._ _

__He only gropes her harder with his hands, lifting her lower body up, never taking his mouth off her. And the picture in front of her - with Gendry’s upper body all tense, muscles bulging, his hands holding her, his head so deep between her legs, she can only see the movement of his hair._ _

__She drops her head back, so caught up in the feeling - Gendry can’t seem to choose what to do, stuffing himself with her cunt as the whole, his tongue sweeping her bud again and again, never failing to bring out noises from Sansa, mouthing up and down (too low, she clenches herself there), but then all too suddenly, he shifts again, the noises coming from him being positively primal, and he sticks his tongue inside of her, and keeps sticking it in and out in a maddening rhythm._ _

__She brings her hands to his hair, needing to touch him, and he butts her hands, minutely forgetting about eating her, moving his head to kiss her wrists, asking, desperate: “Do you like it? Sansa… Please, can I?…”_ _

__“Yes, yes, continue, keep going…” - she doesn’t know how could he be so cruel and stop, but thank Gods, Gendry is good, and he goes back with a happy hiccup, and she holds his head between her legs, afraid he might stop, but he doesn’t, just keeps devouring her, like he dreamt of it, like he has no intention to ever leave that place between her, inside her._ _

__It becomes so good, and intense so fast, Sansa doesn’t even realise she moved her other hand to touch her bud, desperate for friction there, while Gendry’s mouth working inside her, until Gendry growls at her, freeing his one hand, to move hers away, and moves his tongue to keep the friction on her bud, and it is so good, so much better than her hand, his tongue smooth and wet. His free hand (somehow it is just as easy for him to keep her ahold with one hand) sneaks inside her - with one finger suddenly becoming two, working her in the same pace as the tongue on her spot, again and again._ _

__And who knows how long it lasts, but she loses herself with a scream, her body tensing, her vision gone, the only focus left - between her legs, as Gendry sucks her, not stopping, elongating the pleasure, taking her higher, until it becomes almost painful, and she pushes his face away from her._ _

__He lays her back, carefully, and lifts himself from the water, coming closer to her on his hands and knees, and in a tired move she hugs him, bringing his body down on her. He is hot and wet from the water._ _


	10. I miss you

“Hey,” - Sansa says softly as she regains her conscience. 

“Mmm?” - Gendry mumbles on top of her, she feels the voice inside him vibrating in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” - she says, slowly going over everything they just done.

He chuckles.

“What for?”

“Well, you asked me to stop,” - as Gendry makes a noise of disagreement, she corrects herself. - “You told me not to touch you…” 

She didn’t understand him at first, but she remembers how at the very end, he choked the words, and she felt terrible for doing something he didn’t want her to do.

“No, Sansa,” - he lifts himself, and when he looks at her, she sees how easily he goes back to his usual shyness, can almost hear him correcting himself, and calling her “m’lady”, so before he has a chance to hide in his shell, she spreads her fingers on his cheek. - “I didn’t know what I wanted… I mean I wanted that, of course, but also I was so afraid I was going to… well” - he smiles embarrassed, and she smiles back, encouraging him to continue. - “Just what I did. I wanted to last longer, but…” 

“Alright,” - she nods. But he needs to know that he can tell her no, doesn’t have to obey her, doesn’t have to… As she says this to him, he interrupts: “I know that, m’lady,” - and nudges her nose with his in such an innocent gesture, she isn’t even mad about him calling her “m’lady” yet again.

“I liked it all,” - he says, unsure for some reasons.

“Really?” - she looks at him, seeking a sign of a lie. - “Surely not the…” - Sansa struggles with words, and gently touches Gendry’s lips, turning red just remembering…

“I loved it,” - Gendry says it so simply.

“You weren’t disgusted? Not even a little?” - she laughs. She never knew somebody would ever kiss her there, did not know people even did that, especially not with the zeal of Gendry earlier.

“No,” - he says, seeming to be shocked that she would even suggest that. - “Were you?” - he says, suddenly draining of colour.

“Obviously not,” - she shifts uncomfortably, just remembering the sounds she was making, but the feeling was so good.

“I loved it, I wanted to do it for some time, ever since… And the _sounds_ you were making, and how you were in my hands, the _taste_ of you,” - she sees with a fascination how shivers go through his body, his words said with such persuasive sincerity, like he needs to prove her that he enjoyed it just like she did.

“How did you know?…” - she starts, stumbling. - “Have you done it before?” 

She did not think about it before - Gendry’s experience… But now she is sure he isn’t half new to it all as she is.

“Not this…” - he draws.

“But other things, surely?” - she tries to understand herself, wondering if she is jealous of his past.

“Me and other boys went to a… places where you can buy a woman,” - Gendry swallows. Did he enjoy them? The women who were paid to bring him pleasure? - “We went there few times, and yeah… But I never did what I did to you, I heard that people do that, even seen it once… But I never wanted to do it to anyone. Except you.” 

She smiles at his painful honesty, grateful. He probably did other things. Things he had not done with her.

 _Well, I have him now, and forever,_ she says to herself.

The water swirls from the heat, the sun goes higher, and she says it to herself again and again - _I have him now, and forever._

And has to repeat that again to herself, when upon their arrival, Jon finds them with the news.

“We just received it,” - he shows the letter. - “Storm’s End has had a minor rebellion that was quickly put down.” 

Sansa knew that Gendry still hadn’t been in his ancestral home, not since he was legitimised as the Baratheon. They hid in the Winterfell, the winter too intense to travel, and then she got pregnant.

So the Storm’s End was still ruled by the people Stannis chose. It is no wonder rebellion happened, and there would be more, if Gendry does not come and soon.

“You will have to go there,” - she says, trying not to sound bitter. That is the only way. It doesn’t mean she likes the idea of it. Not at all.

He looks at her, pain in his eyes. She knows he didn’t want it - to rule over anything, but he has to.

“And you cannot go with me,” - he finishes. She just starts to show, the babe inside of her too weak to travel. 

So she nods.

“So how will it be done?” - he turns away from her, completely, looking at Jon. - “Am I going to be at the Storm’s End, while Sansa will birth the child here? And then how long will it be until she can come?” 

Her heart breaks for him, he tries to act as a ruler, her heart breaks seeing how he steels himself, awaiting Jon’s advice.

Jon looks at him, sympathising. 

“Your majesty,” - sir Davos interrupts suddenly. They all turn to him, - “I can go to the Storm’s End with Gendry. He will show up there, hang the traitors, people will see him, and then I could hold the Storm’s End for him, while the lad would be free to go and see his first-born come into the world. I am sure that I could hold it for a year, people know me, and all of those who supported Stannis would have the time to get adjusted to the new world,” - sir Davos shrugs his shoulders like it was not a big deal.

“Would you be willing to do that, sir Davos?” - Sansa asks the knight. With anyone else she would be worried that this might be a scheme to steal the power, but she knows the Onion knight. She knows he has no desire for it.

“Well, yes,” - he smiles a little. - “I think I owe the lad that much.” 

Sansa thinks that she might have to reconsider the name for the child, if sir Davos does something like that, they owe to name their first-born after him.

“Thank you,” - Gendry says grudgingly.

“Still, the travel there will take almost a moon’s turn,” - Jon breaks in. - “At least a fortnight there, to hang the traitors, to learn of people, to sit at the counsel, and, if the weather is kind by that time, a fortnight to come back.” 

“That’s a lot to travel,” - Sansa says. Would Gendry want that? Through the winter’s winds, through the North, and then back, without the time to rest.

“Aye,” - Jon says, looking at Gendry.

“It’s alright,” - Gendry says, simple as he usually is around Jon. But when Jon looks at Sansa for a second, Gendry looks at her too, and tenses yet again.

 _Why?_ \- she wants to ask him.

And that’s what she does when they are left alone, their last night together for a long time.

Gendry sighs, and sits near the fire, going with his hands over his hair.

“Would you like that?” - he asks her softly.

“Would I like what? You having to go to the Storm’s End without me?” - Sansa asks, suddenly frustrated.

“No… For me to come back, I guess…” - he mumbles in this manner of his.

That annoys her beyond anything he has ever said to her.

“Why would you say that?” - she demands of him. - “If you do not wish to return to see your child-“

“Obviously, **I** would like to return!” - he stands up, anger clear for the first time she’s known him. - “But if you wish to…” - he deflates, his anger gone so suddenly when he reaches her, his usual nervousness around her seems to be induced by tenderness now.

She doesn’t trust herself to speak, still a bit frustrated with him. Even after today, she thinks, he still has doubts.

“I would understand… Winterfell is your home, and… You don’t have to…” - _live with me_ , she finishes, slowly understanding Gendry and his bits of phrases. - “I could stay at Storm’s End forever, and you can live here.” 

He wants for her to have what she desires, she thinks, hoping she isn’t misunderstanding.

“I would like for you to return, my lord,” - she says, looking at him.

“Then I will,” - he swears to her. - “As soon as I can.” 

She sighs, leaning onto him. Gods, she will miss him. The child kicks, as if to say that he will miss his father too.

She takes Gendry’s hand onto her, he smiles so sweetly when he feels the babe kicking and moving.

That night they lay down on the bed, Gendry whispering sweet nothings to the child, his hands never leaving them both, imprinting the warm touch inside their bodies. 

“You will write to me, will you?” - she whispers to him.

He looks at her, no sign of embarrassment, no pink cheeks, but his eyes are soft, caring. He chuckles, as if she said something funny, but nods nonetheless. 

“Aye.” 

And he keeps his promise. The first letter arrives after the few days of him gone, his letters shaky, and her heart skips beat when she realises that he probably did not know how to read or write. How could he?

The letter says:

“My lady Sansa,

I miss you,

Gendry.”


	11. Fight me

With Gendry gone, Sansa tries her best to go through her responsibilities.

She helps Jon at the counsel, sews new dresses for the babe in the colour of Baratheons and Starks - black and yellow and grey with white.

Her stomach steadily grows, and maester tells her that the child is growing healthy. How could he not be? A child with the blood of Starks and Baratheons. 

Somedays Sansa spends entire days dreaming of what a babe would look like. She remembers the claim of Stannis that Baratheon’s seed is so strong, Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen could not be Robert’s children seeing that every Baratheon is born with the black hair.

She thinks of her black-haired child. She hopes he would have something of Starks and Tullys in him - perhaps grey or blue eyes, perhaps the wave in the hair.

Somedays she misses Gendry so much, she hopes the child is going to come out the spitting image of him, so should they ever be apart like that again, she would have in front of her a remainder of what her husband is like.

She writes Gendry about the growth of her belly, how these days she dreams of the childbirth, water swirling from her, her mother near.

She leaves the bit about her mother out of the letter, not ready to talk about it with Gendry.

Instead she writes him of Winterfell, of the doings and goings - all so same to her, familiar from the childhood.

He writes her back, his letters steadily becoming longer, his hand - less shaky. He writes her of spring in the South, of the travel, of the inns they are staying.

And forever, signing them with: “I miss you.” 

One of the letters, so much longer than the previous ones contains a description of an inn, where he met his friend. He asks her to tell Arya - he has seen Hot Pie.

Sansa sits for a moment, rereading the letter, fighting ridiculous, childish jealousy, and goes out to find Arya.

She is fighting some boys, so much better than them she fights two at once.

These days all Arya does is runs through the forrest, and fights, and shoots arrows, and… Just does everything Arya has been doing since her childhood.

She is every bit dirty as the other boys, her clothes - unlady-like, there are even some sticks in her hair.

But when she watches her, her little sister, who used to annoy her so much, fighting two boys age of Bran and Rickon, she doesn’t feel the way she used to. She feels relieved, and grateful she has this.

Arya easily takes the two of them down, howling like a wolf, Nymeria - answering her, and with a happy laugh on her lips turns to her.

“Would you like to fight me, sister?” - Needle pointed at Sansa, she stands in a fighting pose.

“I’ll pass.” - she raises her eyebrow, chuckling in answer.

“Then what are you here for?” - Arya doesn’t lower her sword, just starts practising this “water-dance” of her.

“Gendry wrote of something that might be interesting for you,” - Sansa looks over the letter, but there is nothing that Arya can’t know, and she gives the parchment to her sister.

Arya looks at it, then suddenly releases a laugh: “Gods, is that Gendry’s hand?” 

He got so much better at writing, Sansa feels offended Arya is laughing at her husband.

“I can’t believe you forced him to learn how to write,” - Arya looks at her in that usual judgemental way of her.

“I did not force him,” - Sansa says, outraged. But Arya just dismisses her with a flick of a hand, going through the letter. She smiles when she reaches the Hot Pie bit, but keeps reading the letter, amused.

“Is that how he speaks to you, when you’re alone?” - she asks, humoured by something. Sansa starts regretting giving Arya the letter. - “Gods, he is pathetic.” 

Sansa snatches the letter back, not understanding Arya, as usual, but not going to let her laugh at Sansa’s lord husband.

“He is not,” - she puffs.

“Yes, he is,” - Arya shrugs. But then suddenly becoming serious. - “He is good, Sansa. Treat him kindly, alright? He is soft, especially for you.”

Sansa knows that he is soft and good, better than Arya even.

“I know it,” - she is about to go back, feeling just as annoyed as she used to feel in the childhood after arguing with Arya.

But Arya stops her with: “Aye, I guess you do.” 

And it is weird, how soft her sister seems in that moment, Sansa smiles at her in goodbye, and Arya smiles back.


	12. I thought I could manage. I can’t. Not without you. Not ever, like that

Gendry comes two moon turns after he’s gone. Jon has said that is the shortest she would have to wait, so she tries to tell herself at the third turn of moon, that she might have to wait a bit longer, only to be relieved the very next morning when her maiden wakes her up saying that Gendry has returned.

She scrambles out of her bed, getting out of her nightgown as soon as she can, eager to wear the dress and go and greet her husband.

He comes through the door, just as she is running out of it, and they fall into each other, Gendry takes few steps back to regain balance, and holds her still.

Finally, she looks at him. He looks a bit different - his skin tanner, black circles underneath his eyes. He looks tired, but he smiles at her in that same bashful way he used to.

“Hello,” - Sansa draws, smiling back. She feels a bit lost, perhaps a bit embarrassed too.

Gendry lets go of her, and before she has the time to protest, nods to her maiden. _Sansa has forgotten about her_.

The go inside, her maiden quickly running from the room, and Gendry closes the door behind her. They stand across the room, Sansa feels shy.

Possibly because Gendry looks good. Possibly because she has missed him more than she expected from herself.

She turns to him and sees that Gendry is focused on her belly. 

In the time of her absence, she started showing. 

Sansa remembered how much her father loved her mother’s belly when she was swollen with the children. 

“Would you like to?..” - Sansa lays her hands on her babe, still so unsure around Gendry.

“Yes,” - he breathes out. He crosses the room slowly, reluctant.

And when he lays his hands on her they sigh together.

His hands go all over her belly, and then he drops to the ground, kneeling in front of her, and hugs them both.

“It was a long journey,” - Sansa says, with her hands in his hair.

“Too long,” - Gendry says into her belly.

He sounds so exhausted, Sansa wants to care for him. He rode day after day to come back to her. He probably doesn’t even know how much it means to her.

“You ought to sleep, you are probably tired from the journey,” - she says to him.

“Lay with me?” - Gendry mumbles. But then looks up at her, looking at her as if she would decline.

It might be one of the first times he has asked anything from her.

As they lay in the bed, Gendry’s hands still on her belly, he sinks inside the pillow, almost immediately falling asleep.

And Sansa can spend the time looking at him. He looks Baratheon, looks strong like King Robert. Sansa hadn’t seen Lord Stannis, but she prayed so hard for him to win in the Blackwater, she heard of him being noble and just, and that Gendry is too. He looks more like Renly out of all three of them. Handsome, easy to laugh Renly.

When Gendry wakes up, few hours later, Sansa has already asked for the food to be brought to their chamber, and the bath filled. She hadn’t seen Gendry washing in the room, she suspects he does it in one of the servant’s baths, but today he shouldn’t leave the room.

She comes back to the bed, her movements now that the child has grown a bit clumsy, but Gendry doesn’t laugh.

“Do you feel better, my lord?” - she drops next to him in a unlady-like manner. Her body is too heavy to be worrying about all that.

“Aye,” - he smiles.

His hands go to her belly as if on their own, and arrange themselves like they belong there. 

And they do. His hands should always be on her.

“Would you care for the food?” - Sansa asks him, but he declines: “a bit later, perhaps.” 

And then they lay in the quiet peace of the day for Gods know how long. 

Gendry traces her face with his eyes, his gaze, just like his hands, gentle on her.

When the babe kicks the two of them smile at each other until he falls back to sleep.

“My mother told me she knew that I would be a boy,” - Gendry says quietly. - “Can maesters tell? can you?…” 

Sansa dreams of boy, is so sure it would be a son, her Robb.

“They can’t,” - she smiles apologetically. - “But I think it would be a boy. Maybe I want it rather than know.” 

Gendry shifts a bit closer to her.

“And you want to name him after your brother?” 

“And your father.” 

She thought about the styling of the name, whether they should call the babe Robert or Robb, but decided that she wanted for Gendry to make a decision.

“I didn’t know my father,” - he sighs, turning from her. - “I thought he was just like the men my mother would bring for the night. If I asked her, she wouldn’t tell me anything, but when she was angry with me, or drunk, she would tell me that my father would know how to handle me, he would beat me into obedience. So I was mostly glad I didn’t know him.” 

Sansa listens intently, she hadn’t known Gendry can speak like that - with the traces of bitter, and anger.

And she can’t help herself - she pities that little boy in Gendry’s story, she pities him, a man grown in front of her. He is so good, she was sure his mother, although low-born was good too.

And she is terrified, because she might have been insensitive to his past. She didn’t know. And she didn’t understand.

Gendry turns to her, and when he sees her face, he touches her, smiling, as if forgiving her.

“When I learned that my father was the king,” - Gendry’s shrug looks funny seeing that they are still lay on bed. - “I could be asking to hear the tales about him… But at the end, he didn’t care for me. And I don’t care for him either.” 

“I’m so sorry…” - Sansa starts, but Gendry just shushes her.

“We can name the babe Robb, after your brother,” - Gendry touches her hair, clearing her face.

“And for a girl?” - she has suggested naming the child after his mother, but would Gendry honestly like it…

“My mother…” - Gendry looks over her, and his throat bobs. - “She drank so much, and when she was drunk she was usually angry with me. But…”

“Often she was good. Especially when I was young - she would tell me stories, and we would go flower-picking,” - here Gendry stammers a bit, and Sansa fears the memories bring him pain.

“She died from the sickness that took over her body so fast, I couldn’t do anything,” - Gendry finishes, his face hard as he says it, and Sansa doesn’t think he wants to reveal anything more. Not today at least. So she doesn’t ask.

“I loved her. If you were to bring me a daughter, it would be great to name her after my mother,” - Gendry says, shifting closer to her.

“Thank you,” - Sansa murmurs into his chest.

“You and that child… Are my family,” - Gendry assures, his breath tickles her hair.

“We missed you,” - Sansa lifts her head up, and looking at Gendry tenderly touches his lips with hers.

“Not like I missed you,” - Gendry says to her when they separate after a long moment. - “I thought I could manage. I can’t. Not without you, not ever, like that.” 

“No, never again,” - Sansa promises.


	13. You're so small

They spend the day together, talking and talking. Gendry tells her of the Storm’s End and Stormlands, as Sansa has never been there. Gendry tells her about the castle, overlooking the sea. He tells her that it smell better than Kings Landing, the only thing that matters to him. 

And, when Gendry tells her of a warmness, green forests, waterfalls, she thinks she would very much like to see it. He shows her the flowers that sir Davos taught him to press in the books so that they would stay in their colours, so many of them, all - pretty. Gendry showers her with them.

She doesn’t think she would ever want to leave Winterfell, doesn’t think she would ever love a place like her home. After all, after everything, the only desire that was left was to stay home, to have the family she has lost back.

Sansa tells him about Winterfell’s doings, about Arya shenanigans to his endless delight. 

She suggests him taking a bath after they have eaten, and he turns so red, Sansa actually laughs at him.

“I will turn away, my lord, or I can leave-” 

“No!” - he blurts. - “Please stay.” 

She turns away when he gets into the bath. Sansa finds that she can understand him. Even though they begun to feel so close before, two moon turns were enough to bring them back to the start. 

Though, not entirely.

She stays and looks out of the window - snow became this dirty thing that should mercifully melt soon. While Gendry bathes, they talk all through it.

She sneaks a glance or two to enjoy his beautiful shoulders, his profile. To have him back closes the wound that his departure was.

They stay inside until the evening comes, and servants bring them dinner. 

After feasting, they have nothing to talk of, every issue small (but not too many big) dissected, but they still stay in. Sansa knows that Gendry hadn’t seen anyone else yet. He’s told her he came to her room as soon as he dismounted. 

And yet, he stays with her, in the comfort of their room, far away from everyone. 

Sansa takes up the dress she was planning on embroiling for the babe, reluctant now to add the stag. Perhaps Gendry would like her to honour his bastard name - Waters.

Meanwhile Gendry sits in her legs, looking into the fire. Often Sansa finds him looking at her, and sometimes she cannot fight herself and leans down to touch his forehead, or hair, or cheek or lips with her lips. 

Peaceful evening melts away into the dark night, and after Gendry blows the candles, they go to the bed, Sansa falling asleep with Gendry’s hand on her.

The next morning Sansa wakes up alone, a usual occurrence in her marriage, seeing as Gendry likes to wake up with the sun, while she always takes her time.

But when she sits to dine, she notices the letter left for her on the table.

It says:

“My lady Sansa,

Jon Snow asked for me. I have to go.

Gendry.” 

Sansa smiles, reading his hand and then saves it in the box she got for Gendry’s letters.

She takes her time, getting ready. 

Yesterday, in a hurry to see Gendry she wore the first dress she clutched, but today she goes over her new dresses, picking the blue one that highlights her eyes and hair, and fits her ever growing belly.

She has her hair brushed, and then twisted up in a northern fashion that Sansa thinks Gendry likes, in a way that highlights her cheekbones.

She uses perfume on herself, and pinches her cheeks, and uses the balm and oils to make her skin look smooth, and her lips - fuller.

And then she goes to see her husband.

She can’t find him or Jon in the castle, so she makes her way outside.

And that’s where they all are - Jon, Arya and Gendry, and a few other castle-men. 

Jon fights against Gendry, Jon with a sword, Gendry with his hammer. Jon is fast, graceful, while Gendry is strong.

Jon’s blood father, Rhaegar, lost to Gendry’s father on the famous battle of trident. There were so many songs written about that battle, and Sansa’s father was always ready to tell the story of a fight between the dragon and a stag. Sansa imagines that in a way, here, she sees that battle playing over.

But here Jon is winning. He circles around Gendry, who is too clumsy to keep up, laughing delightfully, when he smacks Gendry with his sword. Sansa sees Arya loudly cheering with Jon, and she can admit that it does look funny, the way Jon dances around Gendry. But Sansa notices that Jon’s hardest blows do nothing to Gendry - they can’t shatter him, he isn’t even wincing, and yet the occasional blows of Gendry’s hammer make Jon step backwards. Just two blows of Gendry’s hammer on Jon’s right hand make Jon retake the sword in another hand, making him less graceful.

Jon still is too good for Gendry. Sansa knows that even Robb couldn’t win against Jon. She heard their master-at-arms calling Jon, even when he was as young as ten-and-four, the best swordsman in the North, so she isn’t too surprised when Jon easily wins.

Gendry is panting, exhausted from the fight, but Sansa can’t help noticing that Jon is wincing from the pain of Gendry’s blows.

“Doesn’t seem too fair, does it?” - Arya appears near her, quiet as a ghost.

“It was a good fight,” - Sansa says, waving at Gendry who just notices her. He smiles brightly, only to be smacked by Jon, and then turns to her brother, abashed.

“Don’t you think it would be interesting to see them fighting in a fairer circumstances?” - Arya presses on.

“Fairer circumstances?” - she turns to look at her sister.

“I think it would be interesting to see the two of you fight without weapons,” - Arya already screams at the two of the boys. 

Jon chuckles, looking at Gendry expectantly.

“What is the point, Arya? Jon was trained to be a warrior…” - Sansa begins. Jon is already in pain, and Gendry is too exhausted…

“Sansa thinks Jon will win easily, Gendry,” - Arya says to Gendry, who was walking over to the bench.

He turns back immediately. Both Jon and Arya laugh, amused.

Jon and Gendry drop their weapons and start getting rid of their metal armour that would prevent them from moving. Sansa walks over to Gendry.

“Are you not tired, my lord?” - she asks him.

Up close he is sweating, red and hot. He smiles at her.

“No, not at all,” - he breathes out heavily, chest moving.

Sansa helps him with the armour, and Jon, noticing it, says: “Must be nice to have a wife to help out, Gendry,” - clearly teasing.

Gendry, to the delight of all of them, turns beet-red.

“Jon is good, as good as he is with the sword,” - Sansa warns Gendry. He mustn’t underestimate her brother, thinking he is a lording who is useless without armour or sword.

“Alright,” - Gendry says, respecting her advice. - “If I win, I will crown you the queen of love and beauty,” - he says suddenly before walking out.

Sansa smiles at him, and then joins Arya on the bench. There are more people around them, some child even cheers for Jon.

Jon and Gendry meet at the front, and Gendry quickly draws the two of them into fighting, tackling Jon.

Jon slaps Gendry, and beats him with his fists, but Gendry is so like a bull (Arya has told her that’s what he was often called), and doesn’t let go. At some point Jon manages to escape his bear-grip, and starts circling him in the similar manner to the previous fight. Jon is quick on his feet, moves around Gendry and punches him in the unprotected places. But if Jon couldn’t cause too much harm to Gendry with a sword, his fists are almost entirely useless here. 

Gendry is not graceful, but he whenever he manages to punch Jon, her brother stumbles, and Sansa knows how strong Jon is.

It is quite clear that Gendry is much stronger, after a few minutes of fight his shirt clings to him, muscles bulging. He looks wild, savage, with the strength to match the words of his father - “Ours is the fury.” 

Sansa knows that Gendry wouldn’t like to hear of it, but right now and here he looks like the embodiment of everything that a Baratheon must be.

He isn’t anywhere close to the prince she once dreamt of.

But her dreams were stupid.

He is better than her dreams. He is here, real, and good, and noble. And strong.

It starts distracting her after a few minutes of fight - when Gendry’s shirt clings to him, when the fight consumes him to be the embodiment of fury.

She was familiar with crushes, but this… _Heat_ is new for her. 

She wants him. Wants the droplets of sweat on his body, wants to taste them, wants to have Gendry completely out of clothes. Wants for the two of them to be back in their bedchamber, and she ridiculously wants him to fight her the way he fights Jon right now - for him to use his whole strength to pine her down, to hold her…

Gendry actually manages to grab a hold of Jon in one moment, and, lifting him up to disorient, pins him to the ground. All around her people start cheering for him, and Sansa watches as Gendry shakes his head, and then lifts Jon from the ground.

That night he comes back to her with a rose.

“For the queen of love and beauty,” - he mumbles.

“You fought good,” - Sansa says to him.

Gendry shrugs.

“Low-born type of fights is something I had to be good at.” 

“Well, anyhow, I enjoyed it…” - Sansa draws to Gendry who is stripping away from the outer clothing.

She watches him, thinking about how much she would like for Gendry to use all his strength with her, to lose himself the way he has lost himself fighting.

“I think you should teach me how to fight,” - she drops.

He turns to her, smile uncertain, perhaps expecting a joke.

“But…” - he shows at her.

“C’mon, we’ll be really careful,” - Sansa says excitedly, holding her belly.

Gendry smiles. But then agrees.

“Alright, I’ll show you something,” - he shows Sansa where to stand. And when she goes there, suddenly says:

“You’re so small.” 

Sansa looks up at him. She is tall, not too many people would call her “small”, but Gendry, towering over her, certainly can view her as someone “small”.

“I’m at my biggest, actually” - she jokingly pats her stomach.


	14. I can't breathe

Gendry starts teaching her how to told her fist, and how to bend her wrist, but Sansa is giddy. She hasn’t thought he would actually think she wanted to learn. She wants to wrestle him, for him to use his strength with her. She just doesn’t know how to make him understand.

Once he stands near her, using her fist to punch into his stomach, saying something like: “Here is the best place to beat,” she just wraps her hands on his torso, placing her whole weight to drop him to the ground, her belly awkward between them.

Gendry laughs, she certainly is behaving comically, - “What are you doing?” 

“I’m trying to wrestle you,” - she is putting the weight of her whole not-so-small body, and yet Gendry doesn’t move.

“Oh are you?” - Gendry says, amused. - “That is very unlady-like.” 

She does feel ridiculous. So she steps back, absolutely terrified with this weird feeling that has taken over her.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” - Sansa tries her best to save the remains of her dignity.

But Gendry actually looks disappointed.

“What were you trying to do?” - he asks her, still mildly amused.

“I was trying to wrestle you,” - she says, after a beat, kind of cringing at herself.

Gendry laughs so loud, Sansa lifts her head to look at him, not expecting him to be so humoured.

“What?” - she asks, trying and failing to sound dignified.

“It is nothing, my lady,” - Gendry is still laughing. 

“Tell me,” - she demands. _Is it her ridiculousness he is laughing at?_ \- She thinks, petrified.

Gendry stops abruptly after seeing her face. Now he has the audacity to look embarrassed.

“It’s just… In Flea Bottom, wrestling meant…” - she thinks she knows what it meant, what’s with Gendry’s embarrassment being almost palpable.

She guesses that she wanted to wrestle then in that King’s Landing meaning, than in a way that Gendry wrestled with Jon earlier. She remember the heat that took over her. Like nothing she has ever felt before. Gendry smiles easily at her, probably trying to show her that there is nothing embarrassing in her words. Little he knows, she was aiming at the most embarrassing meaning of that phrase.

She looks around them, in the heat of the lord’s chambers, with the fire cracking and the candles giving away the light that dances on them.

“Alright,” - she says to him, reclaiming the control. She moves slowly, the atmosphere in the room changing.

Gendry shuts abruptly, his face closing. Sansa sees that he doesn’t understand her.

“I meant it,” - she steps towards him, her belly touching him, holds her face open for him. His eyes look at her, uncertain. There is something in her voice that holds him still, she didn’t know she was capable of such thing. Power over him in that moment is obvious for both of them. It is the sweetest thing.

“I want you to _wrestle_ me,” - she spews the word wrestle, showing him that she understands the meaning it has for him.

Gendry swallows, and she lowers her gaze to look at his throat, slowly lifting her hands onto his neck, and only then looks back at him.

He looks so lost and young, his face completely slack. 

She chuckles inwardly. Gods, he is just so… _easy_ for her. It is way too good.

All other people have been manipulating her, and she always had to be careful, it is a relief that Gendry is **nothing** like all of them.

She wants to make him understand. How much she appreciates him.

Sansa lifts herself on the toes, and brings her face close to Gendry’s, with her cheek touching his.

“But… We can’t..” - his voice is barely a whisper, so deeply buried inside of him.

“What do you mean?” - she brings her hands to his face and looks at him. Gods, he is so nervous - his eyes moving left and right, he licks his lips, and the movement catches Sansa enraptured.

“I don’t… You are with a child,” - Gendry finally manages.

“So? Maester has assured me…” - she stops, for some reasons reluctant to admit to Gendry that she has asked maester about _that_.

They both freeze in their respective poses.

Sansa wonders what Gendry is thinking of.

“Don’t you want me?” - she questions him. Tired of standing on her toes, she sinks lower and wraps herself around Gendry, with her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. 

“Of course I do,” - he says softly, his voice tingled with humour, as if it is funny that she asked him that.

Sansa looks up at him then, and brings his head closer, he easily obeys her, and kisses him.

It feels so good - to have this reassurance that love is not far for them, that it is growing, that it doesn’t disappear, she whimpers into Gendry’s mouth. He catches the easy sound from her lips, as a drowning man catching the air, desperate.

It feels good to be wanted.

They kiss with a suppressed heat, none willing to be the first to cross the line of a passion that has enraptured them once, in the heat of the waters. 

Sansa brings him closer, Gendry’s hands, as usual, on her belly, they are pushing each other into the other as if craving to be swallowed whole, to be one. 

There is passion that feeds the fire that has been burning inside Sansa since she watched Gendry fight earlier. But there is something else.

They have been away, separated, and now they are here, together. There is a child inside her, growing each day. There have been letters.

She does want to climb Gendry like she did it before, but she stays on her feet; she does need to have her hands on his muscles, but she doesn’t move them from his face. 

Gendry is shaking a little, perhaps she does too.

Some time passes like that with them entangled together, when he lays her on the sheets, so carefully, as if she’s made of a porcelain. 

Once she dreamt of being taken care of in such way.

He hovers over her, never dropping his weight fully on her, up until she starts worrying that he is too uncomfortable.

Sansa tries to swap them around, and it only becomes possible when Gendry understands what she wants.

On top of him, she bends to keep kissing him, and then straightens to sit comfortably on his awakened manhood.

She looks down on him, his gaze soft, full of… 

She knows that every girl dreams of being looked at in a way that Gendry looks at her now.

Sansa undresses him, there is a bit of that savage desire to see him that has her fingers tense, but she also needs to see him. 

Gendry helps her, and then carefully plays with the end of her dress. Thankfully, she is wearing only her underdress, and even though her belly gets in a way, she manages to take it off. Gendry’s grip on her tightens when she comes up fully unclothed in front of him. 

He takes off his pants, and if it were any different she would be feeling out of breath, trying to see him whole, but right now in this quiet tranquility, she feels that it would not matter what he looks like. 

She takes him inside easily - her juices flowing, him - hard, both of them loosing their breath.

Sansa looks at him, he looks back, so lost, his whole body tense, his hands holding her, as if it is the only thing that keeps him afloat. 

He _twitches_ inside her. She lets out a moan, and squeezes him.

“I can’t breathe,” - he struggles, the muscles in his neck-chest-forearms quiver in a soft light of candles.

They keep their gazes on each other, while Sansa lifts up a little, and then, when she sinks down, Gendry cries as if in pain. She does it again, chasing her pleasure, and then Gendry drops his head back, eyes closing, and in just a few moments, with Sansa’s movements against him, he moans her name, and shoots inside. She tries to continue, not letting him go away from her, moving herself on top of him as he flows and spews, but then Gendry begs: “Please, love… please,” his voice - broken. 

And she stops. Gendry in front of her is so completely spent, his breathing pattern distorted, she lays next to him, with an easy kiss on his open mouth.

She listens to him, as he eventually calms down, looking at him all through it. _He looks and sounds like he is in pain_.

Finally, he opens his eyes, and chuckles: “Hello.” 

Sansa does not know what her face does, but when Gendry sees her, he touches her, the pupils widening a little.

“You do know…” - he starts, and then pauses.

“What?” - she whispers.

He stammers, mouth - opening and closing.

At last, he resolves himself.

“I would do anything… Sansa. For you,” - he says at the end.

Her heart breaks a little, she doesn’t understand how can he say something like that while being so unsure. How can he think she might not want to hear _this_.

“I know,” - she kisses him, he is open for her, and she takes what she can, trying without the words to show him that she cares for him, deeply. 

In their kiss she brings the passion that was subdued by this other thing, and soon she has to bring her hand between her legs to take off the edge of her desire.

Gendry separates from her with a gasp for the air, and while Sansa keeps her mouth on him, starving for the taste of his skin and sweat, like a salt on her mouth, he curses. Then she feels how he moves her hand, and replaces it with his fingers.

“Gods, Sansa,” - he explores her, his seed leaking from her.

_Gods, how much she wants him._

“Do you want me to-”

“Yes,” - she hisses. It doesn’t matter what he wants to do, she needs him _there_ , with mouth or fingers or… 

“What do you want me to do, love?” - Gendry asks of her, moving away from her, and she whimpers at the loss.

He looks at her, so sincere, his eyes dropping to her mouth, and then going upward, going over her hair, as he tightens his hand there, looking at her as whole in such a careful manner, as if committing her image inside him.

The memory comes sudden - of Gendry earlier. The flash of his power and fury.

“Wrestle me, Gendry,” - she breathes out.

He still does not understand. 

“Fight me, use all your strength on me,” - she sees how his eyes drop onto her belly.

And says: “Please, please,” - she knows he’d be careful, she knows he wouldn’t hurt her or the child, and when he says: “Alright,” she knows there were never a word sweeter.

He flips her onto her hands and knees, easily holding her hips, in that surprising fit of his strength, and positions himself behind her.

Her belly doesn’t quite touch the bed, but then Gendry places the pillows underneath her knees, lifting her lower body higher.

She knew there were many ways of making love, has started to understand some jokes after her first time, but this seems so savage. She heard of Dothraki mounting their women in that way.

But Gendry doesn’t mount her. Instead, she feels something smooth quickly going all over her, the feeling familiar. He licks her, and slips his tongue inside her, making her buck her hips, but then she goes back, chasing that feeling. 

And yet, he is done with it quickly. But before she has the time to complain, he aligns himself behind her, and goes inside in a sudden piercing motion, she moans when she hears the slap of their bodies.

“Gods, Gendry, yes-” - she praises him, but he cuts her, wickedly moving away from her, and then piercing her again.

He does that again and again, each time almost completely leaving her, and then going back inside in one quick motion.

It feels good, but she wanted him to loose himself inside her, so when he is once again inside her as deep as he can be, she clenches her thighs, capturing him. His groan - a song for her ears.

“C’mon, Gendry, _harder_.” 

His grip on her hips turns to steel, and he starts moving behind her in a steady rhythm, that has her moaning.

“Yes, yes, yes…” - she chants, as he lowers his body and, moving her hair, sucks the skin on her neck, not loosing the control of his hips. 

“Harder, just- Please, Gendry, harder…” - she gasps.

And he does, he would pin her to the ground if it weren’t for his hands that hold her. She drops herself onto the elbows, and lays her head on top of it, her mouth drooling. He lifts himself from her, his hips mercifully never stopping.

“C’mon, Gendry, harder!” - she isn’t even sure she can handle anything more, but she needs him lost inside the feeling.

“I’ll rip you apart if I do harder,” - he chortles.

But Sansa can’t stop. 

“Please, Gendry, love, please,” - she keeps going, not listening to him.

And then, with a loud growl, as if he was shot, he looses it.

He starts moving in such a wicked rhythm, Sansa cannot keep talking, her mouth open, and the voices of pleasure ripping from her, completely unbidden.

Gendry lifts her hips higher, holding her lower body with his two hands, as he doesn’t stop, the sound of their bodies slapping fills the room, Sansa - moaning, the tears come to her eyes, and she cannot see anything, just feels her body in the mercy of Gendry. And does Gendry use her.

When the pleasure comes it is sudden, too soon, she wanted to last longer, but the wave already overcomes her, and she screams higher, and Gendry curses like he is loosing it. Her body tenses, she loses control, doesn’t understand what is going on. Gendry keeps moving all through it, and then with the last two definite slaps, spills inside her one more time, holding himself inside her.

She feels how Gendry moves, his manhood slipping from her, she deviously chases it back, but she is too sensitive there, and they both hiss when he leaves her. He still has her hands on her, perhaps the only thing that isn’t allowing her to drop, and he turns her, positioning her to lay on her back. And then he falls near her with a groan.


	15. I don't know what to say

Sansa laughs a little when Gendry drops next to her, her body barely obeying her.

He smiles at her, and then they lay, calming their heartbeats, regaining the strength.

Sansa feels how the sweat on her body catches the chills of the air, and loosely turns to Gendry, seeking his warm body for a protection. He hugs her, burying his head in her hair.

At some point Sansa thinks that Gendry slips into the dreams, but when she moves to look at him, he opens his eyes.

In the light of candles, Gendry looks different. Signs of tiredness from his long journey are hidden with the dance of shadows.

“Are you alright?” - he whispers, and his voice quivers a little.

 _So much more than that_ , she wants to say, but she can’t, being too tired.

“Yes,” - her voice is rough.

“And the babe?” - he looks worried, the lost expression dissipating with each passing second.

“I think so,” - she thinks that they might have added another child inside her, but can’t find the strength to joke.

Gendry pauses, clearly thinking about something he has to tell her.

“Gendry,” - is her voice going to sound like that from now on? - “What?” 

“I don’t know what to say,” - he starts.

 _Gods, he is ridiculous_. She wants to feel annoyed at him, but she highly doubts she will ever feel anything other than this adoration of him from this point on.

“Just say what you want,” - she cuts him.

He looks at her, and Sansa feels how she is no longer in the hug of that cloudy feeling that had her earlier. But still, she can’t help but coo inwardly at his worried expression. He is couple years older than her, she has to remind herself.

“I probably should apologise… I shouldn’t have been so…” - his sentences run over each other, as usual.

“I asked you for it,” - she ends his chatter. - “And if you haven’t noticed, I enjoyed it, greatly.” 

“Yeah?” - he asks her, unsure and hopeful. 

Sansa reaches out and kisses him on his nose.

“Yes.”


	16. I think he is afraid

Day passes after a day, and each - warmer than the last. Green buds start to reluctantly swell on the trees, just like they do it in the North, where spring can scarcely move winter out of the way.

And Sansa’s belly grows larger each passing day as well, to the point when she needs to make new dresses every sennight, then - every five days, the babe moving inside her so much, she is exhausted while doing relatively nothing.

And Gendry sees that she does nothing, taking up almost all her responsibilities, including sitting with Jon on the council. Then, at the end of the day he will explain the problems that they had, and tell her advices on the next council. 

It is a bit ridiculous. Sansa still doesn’t understand why can’t she just go to the council herself. And Gendry usually says something about the time that she needs to sleep and to eat (as if she is the new-born babe they are awaiting), and then adds that some people might do something that will be unpleasant or stressing for her. 

But nothing is as ridiculous as Gendry’s dread over her - he sees that she eats as much food as she wants (and that’s quite a lot), massages her feet just like maester had told him to do, wants to carry her in the minor inconveniences such as her climbing up the stairs or her walking outside the castle. Sansa manages to make him understand that he will not carry her, especially not when she is with a child. It becomes redundant talk when she grows so big, Gendry wouldn’t be able to make her bend to lift her up.

And they never bed after the time when Gendry has lost control just like she wanted. He sleeps with her on the same bed, holding her, he even stays with her on the bed in the mornings, but despite her efforts, he never agrees to bed her. When she is most desperate he will go low, and bring _her_ the pleasure, but doesn’t let himself have it.

Maester has told her that she might feel different, easily annoyed one moment, consumed by desire in another. Sansa thinks he comes a bit late to her with the warning, but it does explain how easily she snapped at Gendry, and how much she desires him. The emotions actually turn easier to control as she swells, but perhaps it is because of Gendry who attunes to her, guesses her desires before they have the time to be fully ripe.

He frets over her, and she has to remind him that women have been swelling since the beginning of time, but it does little good.

And her getting bigger just makes him feel more and more nervous.

Sansa walks over with Jon, discussing the coming of the spring and the problems that ought to arise with the change of the seasons - rivers and lakes are going to flood in, small folk is going to get so happy seeing the long-awaited spring, they are going to shed the winter clothes too early and get sick…

At the end Sansa just sighs: 

“It would be so much easier if I just looked over the preparations myself.” 

Jon, Arya and Gendry all do a lot of work, but North is still the biggest region in the Westeros, and the end of the longest winter in thousand of years is not easing the amount of work needed to be done.

Jon releases a short laugh.

“You do that and Gendry will just drop dead.” 

And Sansa wishes there were nothing but a joke in that statement, but Gendry is actually behaving as if he might do that, should she do even an ounce of work.

“What is with him? I honestly don’t know how to make him understand that I will not-”

“Die?” - Sansa turns to Jon. - “Oh, aye, I think he is afraid you might die.” 

“But that is ridiculous!” 

“Do you think so?” - Sansa doesn’t understand Jon. So he clarifies. - “Gendry has been growing with the small folk. He’s probably seen and known women who went into the childbirth and had not survived it. When women have to give birth without the help of maesters, without clear water… Almost all my brothers on the Wall have lost somebody to the childbirth fever - be it their mothers, sisters, wifes, some even daughters.” 

She mulls over Jon’s words the whole day (thank Gods, Gendry had something to do with Arya today and didn’t have time to fret over her. He is sweet in his care, but it can be too much), and when the night comes and she enters the bed chamber, she finds Gendry already there, and she knows that she has to tell him something to ease this fear of his.

“How are you feeling?” - Gendry asks at the same time as she says: “What were you doing today?” 

They both startle, and then Sansa smiles. 

“I am feeling alright.” 

Gendry goes over to her to help her get out of the cloak.

“Arya and I went to see the damps. The work is still not done, but they told us everything will be built before the lakes melt,” - he leads her by the elbow to the chair near the fire. As he sits her down, she breathes out, going over Jon’s words again - he is afraid she might…

“You do know that I will not die?” - Sansa decides to just play it straight. 

Gendry flinches. And sits near her legs on the floor.

She watches him, his face a mask, with the fire light dancing on it.

“You don’t know that,” - he says, his voice - rough, and he sinks onto her legs, his head on her knees.

“Yes, I do,” - she tells him, without the heat of an argument. She says it kindly. Because her heart breaks for him, when he finally admits what has been eating him. _What a terrible burden to carry_ , she thinks.

“Gendry… I am the Lady of Winterfell. Maester Volkan is one of the best maesters in the Seven Kingdoms, he will see that I will be able to deliver the babe and survive the fever.” - she wants to tell him that her mother has gone through five successful childbirths and there has never been a danger to her health. But she is afraid he might find ten mothers to counter her one.

“I know. Jon told me… That it is different for noble ladies.. than what I have seen in the Flea Bottom,” - he says, his head still buried in her lap.

She lets him stay like that, he clutches her like a child, but after a while he lifts up, his eyes - all over her face, he looks as helpless as a child.

“You must promise me-”

“I promise,” - she says immediately. He tries to smile. Perhaps that’s enough. 

“Now please move, the babe is doing something weird…” - Sansa focuses on the movement inside her, Gendry keeps his hands on her. 

“Those are quite a kicks,” - he says, voice laced with surprise.

Sansa has never felt anything like that movement before. 

And then she understands, but the water already breaks.

“Oh GODS!” - she bends, overcame with the tense feeling inside. - “Gendry, call for maester, I think, it has started!” 

She looks up and sees the terror filling his eyes.


	17. It's almost done

The first spasm ends quickly, and Sansa is just left wondering if she imagined it, but the water that flooded from her is enough proof. While Gendry is gone she moves to the bed, and with the shaking fingers tries to get out of her dress. Just as she manages, Gendry comes back with maester, he runs over to her, immediately, asking her: “How are you feeling?” - almost swallowing the words.

“I actually…” - could it be that she just was mistaken?

“Gendry told me that the waters broke,” - maester says, barely lifting the end of the sentence for the statement to be a question.

“Yes,” - Sansa shows the place near the fire, maester looks there, and then on her, placing his hands over her underdress on the belly, as she by his instruction lays down on the pillows.

_Gods, it would be too embarrassing if he just says that she peed herself, and the childbirth hadn’t had started._

“I feared…” - he starts, but then smiles at her, and Sansa’s heart lifts up, relieved. - “Usually water does not break until almost the end. It seems like you lost just a little, it’s good.” - He says it to the both of them.

“Now, lady Sansa, you felt the constrictions?” - maester still goes over her belly, pressing his hands on each side.

“Y-yes, I think so,” - she heard that the pain should be so much greater, but it felt as if it was just an extremely powerful kick of the babe.

“At first, they are usually easy to bear,” - maester nods at her, reading her mind. - “Do you think that was the first?” 

“Well, now I’m not entirely sure… I just thought the babe was kicking weirdly today,” - she offers an explanation. She did feel something unusual today.

“When did they start then, you think?” - maester wordlessly asks her permission to lift her underdress and she nods. She notices Gendry standing near her, his face - white. She holds out her hand for him to take. His grip is frantic, and she takes her time to nuzzle his hand, while answering.

“Perhaps, around midday… But they were so weak, but now I understand… there were no more than three or four of them, perhaps five…” - maester lets go of her cloth. He looks calm, and she knows that everything goes just like it should.

“It is custom for the first childbirth to take a long time,” - he explains to both of them. - “I think there are couple more hours for the babe to be out.”

“But, is everything-” - Gendry starts.

“Yes,” - maester assures him.

Then he looks at Sansa.

“The constrictions are going to get stronger, and the time between them - shorter, but you have at least a couple of hours, mayhaps a lot more. I’m going to go to my crypt and bring everything that you might need. But now… I find it that mothers that stay calm during the childbirth usually have them quicker and easier, so,” - he momentarily looks at Gendry who is still holding her hand in a grip that feels stronger than the spasm she felt earlier. - “Would you like me to call on the rest of your family? As I said, it’s going to take a long time, can be a very boring wait, actually.” 

“If you find Jon and Arya,” - Sansa nods at maester, calm with his sureness. 

He nods and goes out of the door.

“I think, everything is good,” - Sansa says to Gendry, who drops on his knees in front of her.

Gendry just releases a short laugh.

“C’mon, Gendry, it’s almost done, a couple more hours to go,” - Sansa goes over his wild hair, tugging it.

He just kisses her hand with a reverence.

Sansa is glad when Jon and Arya arrive. They bring her some herbal tea that maester advised her to drink on, Jon tells her that he sent the raven to Bran, Arya laughs delightfully when she sees the way her belly tenses when another constriction seizes her. Sansa thinks that maester most likely told them to keep her calm and entertained, but she thinks it is more important that they bring Gendry some sort of distraction with their teasing words and easy jokes. Arya draws Gendry into remembering something funny, and Jon sits next to her, and the two of them go over the memories of their childhood.

“You would be the first to bring our father a grand-child,” - says at some point Jon.

“Yes,” - Sansa breathes. She looks at Jon, thankful for this. 

They all stay up all night, chatting, joking and eating, playing games, maester looking over her every hour, and saying: “Not yet,” - over and over again, until at the break of a dawn, he finally says: “I think it is about to start.” 

Sansa was bored with the wait, just like maester has said, and was eager for all of it to end, but suddenly she finds herself scared. The constrictions did get stronger, less spread out in time, harder to bear.

That is when Gendry out of all of them brings her most serenity. He moves behind her, so that she lays over him, braiding her hair, whispering into her ear sweet nothings, holding her.

Now the time between the spasms becomes the salvation for her to grasp, and she regains her composure in those moments, until there are no moments in between. The pain is so great, she screams like she has never screamed before. Maester tells her what to do, and she follows his advises, tuning out everyone else, until the pain peaks, and she cannot think of anyone else, it consumes her.

And yet, she feels and thinks of the child, who before that moment has been no more than an idea or a dream, with the pain becomes real, the single real thing left, and just when she cries of pain ripping her, she hears the cry of another one.

“It is a boy, my lady,” - Gendry tells her, perhaps has been telling her for some time now. She holds out her arms for the child, and only when somebody places him in her arms, she sees and hears and feels something that shames the pain she felt before into nothing.

She feels her eyes watering, the child is squirming, and it is a shame she cannot see him, but she holds him, just as Gendry holds her, babe’s cries muffling when she feeds him, and whispers: 

“Hello, little Robb.”


	18. He looks like you

Afterwards Sansa dozes off, falling asleep without realising it, so when she wakes a bit later, hearing a loud cry, she loses herself, not knowing where or when she is.

Her body moves without her, and she hears herself calling: “Bring him here,” while simultaneously asking inside - _Bring whom here?_

And only when little Robb is positioned close to her, she _remembers_.

“Hello, little one,” - she whispers to her babe. The child wheezes and whines, and can’t find where to suck on, and she tries to move her body, but it is too painful, so she is beyond grateful when Gendry positions the child comfortably.

Gendry lays next to the two of them on the bed, she feels how he kisses her forehead, but she is unable to take her eyes from her child.

“He looks like you,” - her voice spent, barely above the whisper. 

Just like she expected, the child has thick black curls, but she can’t see his eyes.

“It’s a shame,” - Gendry’s voice sounds a lot like her, like he’s been screaming. Or crying.

Sansa moves her head to his chest, and Gendry places a kiss on her hair. They are alone in the room, and the only sounds are coming from the baby Robb, but even he eventually slows down and falls asleep. Sansa repositions herself, tucking herself under a blanket. She touches Robb, thinking that she should shield him from the littlest whiffs of air, but his skin is burning. _A true northerner_ , she smiles. She drinks the sight of him - he is so little, dressed in a cloth she made that is too big, the sweet smell of him surrounding her.

“He has Stark eyes,” - drops Gendry, his hands drawing figures on her cheek, on her body.

“Does he?” - Sansa replies.

 _He is nothing like Robb then_.

With his hair black, his eyes grey, his skin dark and burning to touch, he must look a lot like father.

What was it that Jon has said? 

_That she would be the first to bring Ned Stark a grandchild_.

After a while, when she looks at a little one for so long she commits all the tiniest details of him inside her, carefully going over his body when she undresses him to see that everything is alright, and then dresses up again, all while Robb sleeps through, Sansa looks at Gendry.

He looks terrible - the circles underneath his eyes are almost black, his whole face gives out the exhaustion that seems to be deeper than the one he felt when he came back to her from the Storm’s End. 

She probably looks even worse.

“Hey,” - she touches him lightly. - “It wasn’t that bad,” - she says not unkind.

And Gendry smiles with a good humour. She thinks that the two of them should laugh, but the exhaustion creeps over every muscle in her body.

So instead, Sansa just nuzzles Gendry, and allows him to gently kiss her eyelashes, before dozing off yet again.

And that slowly becomes the routine for the next days. She doesn’t have the time to understand what time it is, just wakes up with the cries of the child, feeds him, Gendry watches so that she would eat herself, then she sleeps, and overall looses the days in the child, providing the care that he needs. Her world turns small, her entire being focused on the babe. 

Little Robb doesn’t like sleeping for too long, wakes after an hour, requiring attention with his loud voice, but when he sleeps, not even a dragon roar would stir him up. He eats and eats, gaining his weight, and even maester confirms that he is bigger than infants his age, quite possibly taking after his father. Sansa loves noticing the small details of her child, trying to understand him to her best ability, and her days are spent with her looking over him. Even when he is asleep, she loves nothing more but to lay down next to him and watch him, committing his smallest movements and sounds to her memory.

Even the relationship with others becomes tinted by little Robb.

Jon is surprisingly good with the babe, his quiet gentle nature always seems to calm the child. Arya, on the contrary, is quite bad. She makes him cry more often than not, but as little Robb grows, Arya becomes the first to make him laugh. Bran comes and goes, but while he is there, he wouldn’t place Robb on the floor, always carrying him, his stories - a lullaby for the little Robb to fall asleep to.

The best with Robb is Gendry. He dreads over him, constantly thinking about everything that he should and might do for the child, always consulting with her, equally consumed by his smallest changes as Sansa is, and often they spend hours talking over little Robb with the babe laying between them. 

Sansa has enjoyed being cared by Gendry, loved how he seems to be so engrossed in her, how he cares for her, but seeing him fretting over their child brings a pleasure much deeper. 

However, she finds herself at lost more often than not, and while maester Volkan gives the best advice, Sansa finds herself craving for her mother, wishing she would explain to her the intricacies of the infants.

And it is not only her mother she starts craving for. Her desire to have the family she has lost, piques, and she cries for her parents, Robb and Rickon, mourning them yet again.

Little Robb looks so much like her father it hurts, and Sansa understands just how much a woman needs a mother when she is with her first child. And she can’t help herself but wish to see Robb around his nephew, named after him. And Rickon… A babe that she in a way raised, what would he be like as a youngest uncle? - she asks herself again and again.

She will never know.

The days become moon turns, and one day Sansa looks around and sees that the spring has found it’s way into the North, and the bloom of the nature that seems to highlight the growth of her child heals her more than she thought it was possible. It tells her that good things came and there is no need to be enduring and surviving no more, she can live, and seeing the proof of the spring promises in little Robb allows her to dream without shame again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, as we are approaching the end, I would just like to say that I was absolutely amazed by the jaw-dropping support many of you have given me! Honestly, if you came by and gave me kudos, or and especially those of you who chose to stop by and comment (and out of them especially those of you who did it more than once) please know that you made this whole exprience of being a fic author something magical. 
> 
> You all have no idea how inspiring your feedback had been! (I'm like literally flowing with ideas of other projects, ones that I hope to publish as soon as I'm done here). 
> 
> Thank you so much!


	19. Now please join me

And it is during that time, when Sansa sees the green taking over the nature, that Arya tells her that she could take a child for a night. When Sansa disagrees, Jon tells her that he would look over the child with Arya, and she trusts her older brother a bit more to Arya’s amusing pout.

Truthfully, she would love nothing more than to get a night full of sleep, and so since the babe started drinking the mixture that maester did for him - her milk with other foods to get him used to the taste, she agrees. 

In the evening, she gets to the bed and falls asleep immediately, lost in the deep dreamless land.

She wakes a few hours later, feeling about ten times better than she did in the past months, and notices Gendry near her.

“Good…” - Sansa looks to the window, pitched black. - “Night?” 

Gendry brushes her hair, asking:

“Did you get back here right after you left little Robb?” 

“Yes, fell asleep the moment I came,” - Sansa nods. - “How long was I asleep?” 

“I believe this candle was tall when I entered,” - Gendry points to the small candle near the bed.

She probably slept half of time she usually goes through at night. It still is more than she managed to get in the last couple of months.

“I thought you would want to eat first,” - Gendry shows her the table near the fire.

Over there are her favourite foods, and she joyfully feasts upon it. It’s been so long since she allowed herself to waste the time and feel the texture of things she ate.

Gendry looks at her funnily, smile tugging his lips, she probably feasts like a savage.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” - Gods know that Gendry has been with her in the care for Robb during the endless cries and nights.

“Well, remember how I’d been taking a little time to sleep in the afternoon?” - No more than a couple hours that Sansa insisted he would take. _She_ needed to be with little Robb, but one person was enough to take care of the babe.

So she nods, gulping a big chunk of water to wash the food down.

“Well, my body thinks now that the day is for sleeping and night is to be awake,” - Gendry tells her.

“It is a bit hard, isn’t it?” - Sansa sympathies her husband.

“A bit?” - jokes Gendry. - “The childbirth was too a bit painful?” 

Sansa just leans on the back of the chair, smiling back.

She sees Gendry, and just like with the sleep and food, it seems like she sees him for the first time in the long months gone.

“I wouldn’t mind,” - she pauses, and Gendry raises an eyebrow. - “doing it again.” 

She watches how Gendry struggles to understand her words.

And then, deciding that he would never understand such veiled proposition, she sways away from the chair, and slowly, never dropping her eyes from her husband’s face, walks over to him.

He watches her, his eyes drawing over her, appreciative, but not hungry, not eager. _Perhaps, he doesn’t understand even now._

So she places her hands on his shoulders, pushing his back onto the chair, and, moving her leg over, sinks her body on his.

Now they are face to face, orange yellow flicks of the fire caressing their skin, Gendry’s hands find their place on her hips, she goes over his hair with her hands, and feels how beneath her, Gendry starts _growing_.

Their movements are slow, almost lazy, they keep their eyes on each other, hands - caressing each other’s skin. Sansa is wearing nothing but the nightgown, and her sitting position opens up her lower body to the night air, and every now and then, as Gendry lowers his hands she enjoys the feeling of his skin on her, when finally he settles his hands on her thighs, not close enough to where she wants them, but pleasurable on her unclothed skin.

But Gendry is fully clothed, and she gets her hands inside, by his collar, moving them on his chest, barely going over the nipples.

When she drops her head on his shoulder, moving herself closer to him, he whispers to her:

“I don’t want you to suffer,” - his voice a bit of a contrast to an atmosphere.

So Sansa moves her head back and looks at him, a bit lost.

Gendry watches her, steel inside.

“I don’t want for us to ever bed if it brings you even a bit of a pain,” - Sansa wants to tell him that it doesn’t, but he doesn’t let her speak. Just continues. - “I know that it is different for women. And I will never insist on you getting a child. Seven hells,” - he chuckles darkly, but keeps his voice stable and sure, - “I might even argue you if you want another child.” 

She watches him, and sees for the first time how confident he is, facing her back. 

“Alright,” - she agrees. - “Bedding you has never brought me pain. Maybe the first time,” - and seeing how he flinches, she continues, - “just a little, and it is the way it is for women. And never again. Bedding with you brings me pleasure,” - she makes sure to stop here, and look at him, making him see the truth in her eyes.

“And we cannot talk of another child yet,” - she continues. - “Maester has told me that for a year after the childbirth I will be barren.” 

When she finishes, she looks at Gendry, allowing her words to gain weight and press on him. She wants to show him that she listens to his words, and wants to make sure that he hears her back.

“Another child-” - starts Gendry after a pause.

“Is a conversation we are going to have later,” - finishes Sansa. 

Gendry lets go, and nods, agreeing with her.

She stands up from him, his hands on her legs momentarily tensing as if trying to keep her there, but allows her to escape. 

Sansa goes over to the bed, and takes off her nightgown, leaving herself naked in the candlelight, before laying on the bed. 

“Now please join me.”


	20. I love you

She watches as Gendry gets out of his clothing, never tearing his eyes away from her. She experimentally opens up her legs, and notices with a delight the way Gendry stops undressing and just focuses on her _there_. 

She goes with her hands over the wetness, and with lazy movements starts to go over her body, Gendry follows her hands with his eyes. She goes over her bud, and moves a finger inside her, and then over her thighs, belly, the feeling of her hands on her chest leaves her out of breath. 

Gendry comes suddenly on top of her, _still wearing clothes_.

He doesn’t touch her, just hovers over on his elbows, his head where her belly is, watching her hands as they squeeze her tits and a bit of a milk comes out.

She smears it over her skin, but noting Gendry’s hungry eyes, she reluctantly gives out her hand to him. He sucks her fingers with a moan, so she, with her other hand, squeezes her chest, allowing her nipples to drip, and Gendry, looking at her, slowly moves and gets his mouth on her nipple, licking the milk that drips. 

_It is so obscene_. 

A picture so dirty, Sansa doesn’t let her think too hard about it, just lifts her legs and captures Gendry’s torso between them, needing even a bit of a pressure there suddenly.

Gendry moans yet again, and starts sucking her, surprising her, and she hisses.

He lets his mouth drop, but not without getting the taste.

He smiles at her, a bit unsure, and she smiles back, can’t really not.

“You are still dressed,” - she says, as her hands go inside his loosened shirt, tracing his skin with her nails.

“I think you can fix it,” - he says daringly, but it still falls short as Gendry seems a bit self-conscious. She kisses him, wondering if he is ever going to be absolutely comfortable around her. A small part of her wants the answer to be no, wants for him to always stumble around the words when he looks her in the eyes.

She undresses him gently, with slow movements, there is no rush, no heat. Perhaps after days of caring for the child she is too tired for the wild swirl or desires and emotions. There is no fire.

The two of them move as if they are under water, each touch - measured, deliberate, sending ripples through the atmosphere around them. 

Harsh clothing of Gendry scratches her sensitive skin, but Gendry is always there to smooth her skin with his palms. He can’t seem to get enough of that touch, doesn’t even help her to undress him, just moves across that changed body. 

Sansa hasn’t had the time to understand the changes that have happened to her, especially to her body. It is not the body of a maiden no more, now it is the body of a mother. Sansa knows what men talk of, knows that they prefer women who never birthed, especially virgins, but she found herself thinking about the bits of phrases that her mother dropped before, when she was a child and couldn’t understand. 

Her mother did mention that love only kept growing in her marriage them with every child they had, in every way.

Sansa sees how Gendry can’t get enough of her now, mayhaps, the desire is something that will keep growing between them.

She finally gets him out of the shirt and pants, dropping the clothes carelessly out of the bed, and goes over his skin, and then changes their position in one smooth movement, rolling on top of Gendry, he lets her have her way, and just looks up at her, so trusting and open for her.

When she sinks on him, she has the weirdest sensation, that in the years to come she is going to think over and over again. And decades later, she is going to tell herself what it was - a green vision. Stark blood in her veins, Lady, though dead, living inside her, she grasped that last bit of magic that left the world during the longest winter and harshest war.

She looks at Gendry, lost in his eyes, some depth sinking her lower, the world coming small, hung between them, created by and for them, and sees.

She sees the years and years ahead of them. The long spring, but Robb’s first memories are going to be of the summer. Not the summer of the North, but of the Stormslands - the place of such beauty she hasn’t thought existed, with it’s waterfalls and flower fields, forrest filled with stags and deers and small does, and rabbits and birds unafraid of people. The long days of sun, the warm waters of the lakes and rivers, she sees Robb growing and sees Brienne teaching him how to handle a sword. 

She sees her sitting on the council in the Storm’s End, sees Gendry slowly learning how to be just and good, and wise in his rule.

She sees now that this nervousness of him around her, that she learnt to love, is going to fade. Instead, there is going to be familiarity, openness and devotion in every move, and every look and every word.

She sees another child, though much later, after the long summer comes and goes, the next winter barely chilling them, so far South, and by yet another spring she will give birth to twins, and maybe there are more. Maybe those are the kids of her kids later and later on. Maybe those are the kids of her brothers or her sister, who are going to visit her, and sometimes stay, whom she is going to visit too. Maybe she sees the past too - mother and father looking over all of them as they are playing all together. Maybe that is not father and mother, maybe that is she and Gendry and the children playing are their kids.

The Winters are going to come, and then they are going to go. Some winters are going to leave her weak, other are going to bring her too much pain, but there will also be summers, filled with happiness, and the sun is going to bring her joy she still hadn’t felt.

She is going to dream again. And her dreams are going to come true, and she is going to regret inviting them to her life, but then she will learn from them, and they are going to become the parts of her life, easy as the air, surrounding her everywhere.

But most importantly she is going to love Gendry. From the seed that was planted from the moment she has seen him, tumbling over the words, from the little flower that opened up today, it is going to grow and grow, until there would be no part of her unchanged by that love, and that love is going to be living well beyond the two of them, though she cannot see how.

But it is for this promise that when she peaks, losing the sight of everything in front of her, she says:

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end.
> 
> Thank you all so much! You have made this story so much more than it was supposed to be, and brought me more joy than I hoped to get, (and, yes, I am quite aware that I sound like some Oscar laureate, but you guys are all so great, and I just can't find the right words to let y'all know how awesome you were!)
> 
> Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! <3  
> (please feed me more)
> 
> And also, come and chat with me, and send me prompts @ anawfulybigadventure.tumblr.com (yes, I know it is misspelled)


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